


Pigment: Paint Me Like the Masterpiece I Am

by firelord65



Series: Holiday Fic Prompt Contest Fics [6]
Category: Divergent (Movies), Divergent Series - Veronica Roth
Genre: Canon Divergent, Consensual Sex, Cunnilingus, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Heavy Petting, Kyle (Original Male Character) [Background], Shower Sex, body painting, dance party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-11-05 05:31:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11006985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firelord65/pseuds/firelord65
Summary: Chicago has an inter-factional festival that celebrates when resources of dyes and pigments have been harvested or reclaimed and are now available. Dauntless loves Colorfest solely for the chance to throw a massive party and go wild.Ericloves Colorfest as an excuse to get shitfaced and maybe spend some time out of the office with his fellow Leadership officer.





	Pigment: Paint Me Like the Masterpiece I Am

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nimadge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nimadge/gifts).



> A/N: This piece is a much delayed oneshot for my darling friend Dasha! It was part of my yearly holiday prompt contest, though I didn’t end up completing the final product until much later.
> 
> The setting is post-Divergent and, as usual, I’m operating under a very different canon-divergent plotline where there wasn’t that whole Factionless revolt or battle between Erudite and the loyal Dauntless. Assume anything after the Abnegation attack resulted in war trials with Eric getting off - [insert joke here] - and remaining a faction Leader. Anything beyond that, I leave to context clues and your imagination~!
> 
> Prompt: Coloring in tattoos.

The weekend approached at a snail’s pace, each minute on my clock taking an eternity longer than the last. I looked up at my door more times in the last hour than I did for the entire week, praying that someone would wander in with a stupid question about training regimens or, even better, a genuine problem that needed solving. All I got was a slight headache and a twitchy feeling that someone was watching me.

Dammit, this was unbearable. “Efficiency along the chain of command is key, Eric,” I mocked my previous self under my breath. “Wasn’t that a brilliant plan. Eliminate any chance of ever getting interrupted doing pointless paperwork.” It wasn’t actually _pointless_ but when there was an inter-factional festival going on from dusk tonight until dawn on Monday, it sure felt a hell of a lot less important.

I looked back at my clock and decided that two o’clock was just about the same as four-thirty in the grand scheme of the month. If I wasn’t too hungover on Sunday I could finish this then without losing any real time.

Heh. Alright, Monday afternoon. It _was_ a festival after all.

Closing the folders with a little too much vigor, I got the hell out of my office. Pausing my escape at the elevator, I glanced back at the rest of the Leadership offices. They were empty save for the trainees and junior officers assigned to work the desks this week. The rest of Leadership was out directly coordinating the events of the weekend, a task that I had avoided being directly involved in. Kyle looked up from his computer monitor, not even bothering to disguise the 8-bit game system in his hands. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. If I didn’t then I would probably strain myself from the sheer number of times that Kyle irritated me.

“Is it quitting time already?” the dark-haired secretary asked, fingers tapping to continue playing even as he spoke to me. Insufferable, really.

I weighed my options. I had the right to screw off whenever I wanted - perks of the stripes - but I preferred to at least have some kind of excuse when I did so. “Yeah, not much is getting done here,” I admitted. “Who else is left around?”

Kyle shrugged. “A lot of help you are,” I exhaled. Leaving the elevator banks, I started to sweep through the U-shaped office. “What do we pay you for again?”

“I bring troop morale up so that when they see your ugly mug they don’t off themselves immediately,” he called after me. If I was still within eyeshot I would have flipped him off. My previous assessment of the floor was half right; my fellow Leaders and staff were all missing in action but so, too, were the junior officers.

All except the resident try-hard with the heart of gold and a frighteningly high fear simulation proficiency score. Somehow, I’d known that when I wandered into the back bull-pen of cubicles she would be sitting there. Her short hair fell forward as she leaned down, pen scrabbling away mere inches from her face. I leaned against the cubicle partition, letting her finish whatever thought she had.

Tris beat me to the punch, clearing her throat before speaking. “Need something, bossman?” Dammit, she’d picked that nickname up from Richards. Her attention remained locked on her work. I moved to the chair in front of her desk, immediately regretting the decision. The wheels stuck, scraping against the linoleum floor with a horrid sound. That broke her focus and earned me a scathing glare. Those grey-blue eyes could turn from charming to ice in seconds.

It was cute. I was no longer the sole “scary” member of leadership. I liked to think that she was my perfect protege, but that would understate the sheer amount of bullshit she’d pulled herself through - without me - to get to her position. My involvement had been to hone her skills and drop kick the Leadership commission to not throw her promise away because of her factional aptitude. _Aptitudes_. Whatever.

Her glare didn’t deter me and I threw my ankles onto her desk for good measure as I sat down. “It’s dead right now. Maybe you’ve noticed how you’re the only one still working?” I joked.

One shoulder lifted. The glare warmed up a few fractions of a degree. “It’s Friday,” she answered.

“It’s a very special Friday. It’s Colorfest,” I countered.

Her pen went down and Tris leaned on the heel of her hand. “People weren’t pestering me. I was taking advantage,” she said. It was a solid plan, one that I would typically recommend. One of the issues with the daily tasks in Leadership was the constant interruptions by coworkers and other officers, such as the heads of transport, wall security, and the command center. They always wanted a higher rank to fall back on when they had shitty decisions to be made. The perks of these damn stripes.

I tipped my head to mirror her. It made her roll her eyes, but I took the time to look her over, putting the festival back into the equation. This wasn’t just skipping an early weekend, it was missing out on food, drinks, socialization with people who weren’t just Dauntless.

Ah. That may have been the point.

“Dinner’s supposed to be damn good tonight. They’re pulling out all the stops. I hear rumors of short ribs and steaks,” I said. Tris shrugged her shoulder once more, still unaffected. “Have you ever had a really nice steak? Not just the shrimpy bits they put in the tacos and call steak, but actual, beautifully rare steak.”

She shook her head and her frown deepened even more. We were edging back towards an icy disposition; time for a change in tactics. I sat up, taking my feet off her desk and rolling the protesting chair forward. “I hadn’t either, till I transferred. Look, I’m not saying that it's a rite of passage to eat too much after beating the pants off Erudite at volleyball, but I will say that it’s rather rewarding to shove it in their faces that they can’t jump for shit.”

“I didn’t sign up for any of the teams,” Tris said lightly. Her shoulders, tense and coiled, didn’t match her tone. Strike two for bringing up something positive. Faction pride was my go-to cheer up tactic but it didn’t seem to be working now.

I winced, exaggerating the expression. “Yeah, neither did I this year. Lost track of the sheet.”

“Mmmhm,” Tris replied. She picked the pen back up and returned to her notes, reading for where she had last been. I waved a hand in front of the paper, interrupting her one final time.

I didn’t offer a wide smile or joke, even as she glared at me through the fringe of her hair. “I still have to put in an appearance at the field games, but when I’m done there, how about I find you back at the mess and we have that steak? Most people will be at the barbeque with the riff-raff; it can be a low-key thing,” I suggested. In a peace offering, I moved my hand away from her papers and curled it into a fist.

Tris finally gave me a miniscule smile - probably to get me to leave her alone finally - and gently tapped her knuckles against mine. “Sounds… fun. I’ll head down around five.”

Standing up, I offered her a salute. “Just don’t work yourself too hard. You… eh, you know what I’m going to say,” I trailed off.

“ _Goodbye_ , Eric,” Tris laughed, shooing me out of her cubicle.

* * *

Cruising into the mess hall on Saturday morning, I nursed my bruised kneecap and the sinking feeling that I had forgotten something. Breakfast consisted of steak and eggs, a glorious combination that set my stomach to growling and my mouth watering as soon as I smelled it. Halfway through the line I’d filled my plate and contemplated stacking hash browns atop a piece of toast so that I wouldn’t have to make a second trip through.

“Got enough on your plate?” I turned my head and scoffed at Lauren coming up behind me in line. She only had a single egg and some thin slices of ham on her plate. That had been the mere foundation of my mountain of food.

I decided against the hash browns and moved to walk next to Lauren. “When you’ve got guns like these, you can’t starve them,” I said. She groaned and I took my leave before she did something drastic like throwing toast at my head.

Making my way through the mess hall, I bobbed my head in greeting to everyone who met my eyes. It was a festival weekend and I was in a good mood. I could give the people a few nods. As I sat down, my knee twinged once again in reminder of the idiotic move I’d pulled during one of the games I had been dragged into. I rubbed it idly as I began eating. No one was at the table I had picked. Lauren wandered off to join her squad mates at the other end of the hall, not that I had expected her to follow me.

The steak was great, even if it was reheated. I popped a new piece in my mouth and hummed. Delicious. I went back for another forkful and glanced around once again. Tris walked in along with her overly-talkative friend. The former looked about as pleased as I normally did when subjected to Christina’s presence. My stomach turned and the food in my mouth took on a sour taste. That nagging feeling in the back of my mind lurched to the forefront, demanding attention.

I chewed, swallowed, and repeated the eating process as my eyes watched the two girls moving through the food line. I lost sight of them for a moment when I looked down at my plate for too long, but quickly regained a lock on Christina. She was alone now, my only warning before a tray slammed down on the side opposite the shoulder I was looking over.

“So, you’re alive, I see,” Tris growled. I swallowed again to fruitlessly try and lose the sour taste in my mouth.

Turning to face her took a moment. I had to bring a properly casual smile to bear. “So they tell me. And a good morning to you as well, Tris.” She regarded me with a frosty expression of her own. “That’s what people typically say to one another. It’s a friendly, polite conversation starter.”

I matched her gaze and counted off the seconds in my mind. Tris broke first, making a disgusted sound and moving to her feet. Man, I was killing it with figuring her out this weekend. Letting her leave would only solidify my asshole status.

“Tris, wait,” I plead. “I’m sorry about yesterday.”

She stared above my head, not looking away but still refused to meet my eyes. Ouch. “I’m listening,” she said warily.

I moved to straddle the bench, giving her my full attention. “I forgot about our deal. I had a good reason,” I started to explain. Tris huffed and I quickly continued. “I had a reason but I still should have let you know I wasn’t going to make it to dinner. And I’m sorry. And I would appreciate if you would sit down and let me finish apologizing to you over breakfast.”

Her expression softened slightly. I was given actual eye contact and a low sigh. “Please?” I added. Begging wasn’t my thing, but, again, it was a festival weekend. I could overlook it along with all the other painful friendliness.

Tris sat down. She “wasn’t quite careful enough” and kicked my knee with her foot as she did, but she did join me once again at the table. I cringed as the bruise once again reared its ugly head.

“Well, I’m listening,” Tris said before attacking her plate of food.

The unease in my stomach let up, though my own appetite was still pretty much gone. I leaned on my elbows and explained in short sentences what had happened. “The games went sideways. One of the volleyball fields had been flooded. People got hurt. Dauntless was blamed. ‘Improper field maintenance,’ aka bullshit. Tempers flared,” I said roughly.

Tris raised one delicate eyebrow. “I can’t imagine anyone getting in a fight over something so banal,” she snarked.

“Ha, ha,” I replied in an equally dry tone. “I was involved in quelling tensions, actually. Doing my job of keeping people from jumping down one another’s throats. Which was why I missed dinner; The Candor kids’ parents wouldn’t take any less than a personal escort to the hospital for their little _darlings_ to be checked out.”

Tris’ plate was half cleared but I wasn’t certain I was any less out of the proverbial doghouse. “And they didn’t have any comms there?” she asked, bitterness still evident. Nope. Not out of trouble yet.

My shoulders lifted and fell. “I didn’t even think to call,” I admitted. “I was preoccupied. You know how Candor can be. Multiply that paranoia by about five because of the kid-factor.”

“Mmm…,” was the sole response that I got. I risked nudging Tris with my elbow. She looked over and I couldn’t puzzle out what she was thinking.

“What do you want me to do to make it up for you? I know that… well, actually I don’t know why you’re so against the festival, but I can do something to help save the rest of the weekend for you,” I offered, though I did so quietly so that our conversation didn’t carry over the entire mess hall. My reputation took far too long to curate to destroy so casually.

My offer was what it took to finally get a genuine smile from her. Even a small one like this was a victory hard won. “You could always ask why,” she said in an equally quiet voice. Tris looked at my plate and much to my chagrin her fork darted out, stealing my final piece of steak. “I’ll just take this though and call us even. All you owed me was steak, after all.”

I laughed and shook my head. She chuckled with her mouth full, and I relished the genuine happiness I saw in her now. This was the girl that I enjoyed training with, working with, and overall being around. The conversation was at a tipping point. I could take the bait and go back to comfortable, casual waters of stealing one another’s food and talking about everyday topics.

Or, I could do reckless thing and ask her more questions. “So. The festival. _Is_ that why you’ve been all… whatever you’ve been?” Subtlety won me absolutely nothing in Dauntless. Being direct tended to win out even with emotional, weird conversations.

Tris sighed, pushing her remaining food around with the end of her fork instead of answering. This was my window to retract the question and retreat to safer conversation. That wasn’t my style. After another silent moment Tris dropped the fork and pushed the plate away. “It’s stupid,” she mumbled.

“Unlikely,” I countered. “You’ll have to try harder than that to stop me from getting my answer now. Try that again.” I nudged her again with my elbow.

I earned a quick glare which was weakened by the flush on Tris’ cheeks. She returned to looking down at her hands as she twisted them around each other. “I don’t know how to behave. Casually. With everyone,” she admitted. “It’s uncomfortable and I’d rather just…” She trailed off. Keeping quiet, I let Tris collect herself.

“I would rather stick to my faction right now. All the festivities are too damn cheerful. Celebrating inter-factional cooperation. But in the same breath they look at me like I’ve got three heads just because I _could_ have initiated into a different faction,” she explained.

“And it’s just made worse from those damn attacks. I’m a part of the group that literally killed most of the government because they were helping people like me. Me being around reminds everyone of that, especially when I have no plans of leaving Dauntless. It’s a massive rock-and-hard place situation. So I’d just rather not deal with anyone who isn’t Dauntless.”

I hummed in acknowledgement. So, I hadn’t been wrong in my observations. Tris didn’t want to do anything having to do with the other factions. “I don’t blame you. It’s rough, putting up with that kind of scrutiny,” I admitted. “I didn’t want to leave my office never mind the faction after the trials. But I had to, eventually.”

“Eventually,” Tris echoed. “What does that actually mean?”

“It means whenever you’re comfortable. When you decide that it's something you need to do. When you have to,” I replied. “Basically, it’s totally subjective.”

Tris buried her face in her hands. “You’re utterly unhelpful,” she groaned.

I tried to look contrite. “I’m not exactly great at being supportive and answering philosophical questions,” I said. The chuckle that escaped didn’t match my attempts to be apologetic. I settled my arm loosely over her shoulder. Quiet support, I could do. “Any way that you slice it, it’s going to be your decision when you reintegrate with the rest of the factions. If you don’t want to do that this weekend, that’s just as fine as going out and shaking the hand of every Candor, Amity, and Erudite out there.”

She peered at me between her fingers. “I don’t get to shake any Abnegation’s hand?” she remarked wryly.

Scoffing, I shook my head. “That would require _touching_ , Tris. Come on. It’s like you don’t even understand Stiff culture,” I teased.

“Coulter, I mean this with the sincerity of my entire soul: go fuck yourself.”

* * *

My effort to remain on my best, most conciliatory behavior was successful. I avoided any further debacles or disagreements for the entire afternoon. It helped that the Dauntless-sponsored food and drinks included beer.

I held back from the events this time, choosing to watch things from a distance with Bud and his fellow artist friends. They were resting up before the big rush of orders that would start tonight. The whole point of Colorfest was that after the harvest and production cycle the city would release any surplus pigments and dyes to be requisitioned by average citizens. People commissioned new clothing, painted the walls of their homes, and colorized their tattoo designs. None of it was cheap, save for the real low-quality pigments that were more chalk than color. I didn’t care about any of that beyond the events that came out of everyone’s excitement.

Events such as the Dauntless-only, adult-only dance party in the Pit that was just starting to get going. Like most Dauntless functions, it was bound to get too rowdy by the time it was scheduled to be over. That was someone else’s problem. Leaders weren’t responsible for event planning. We just got to participate.

The bass thrummed through the speaker system as the first DJ of the night started to ramp up her setlist. She wasn’t half bad; I’d heard her play a few weeks back at one of the less intense monthly parties. I bounced on my heels, surveying the gathering crowd of people from one of the overhangs above the Pit. Most people had more skin than clothing on between the heat and the planned-

“Eric, why’re you lurking? I knew I’d find you somewhere, watching people having a good time instead of being there yourself,” Charlie slurred from a ramp several yards away from my perch. I smiled and hopped railing to land in front of him. It was murder on my knee but such was life.

I clapped Charlie on the back, giving in to the urge to laugh as even that little bit of movement set him off balance. “At least I’m not drunk off my ass at seven o’ clock,” I said. “You’re going to be on the floor in an hour if you don’t slow down.”

He gripped my shoulder for balance, laughing along with me. “Kirsten’s way ahead of you. She talked to the bartender. I’m cut off till nine. Or maybe it was ten? Either way. Cut off,” he continued to cheerfully ramble on about his plans for the night.

“You’re gonna come dance,” Charlie ordered once I helped him all the way down to the bottom floor of the Pit. “You’re gonna dance and you’re gonna like it.”

I stood on my toes for a moment, trying to spot Kirsten in the crowd or any of Charlie’s usual crew. “I would really love to but maybe later,” I offered. Ah, there was the redheaded woman. She was decked out with lime green paint drawn along her limbs in racing stripes. My attention was immediately distracted, though, as I saw Tris wander into the mess of people on the dance floor.

Her short hair had been teased out slightly into spikes. My heart nearly stopped when I realized she’d taken one of her training tees and cut it into a crop top. Combined with the short-shorts she was wearing and the ex-stiff was showing off a tantalizing display of pale skin.

Charlie pouted as I handed him off to his other friends, grabbing my wrist one final time. “When that girl you’re making doe eyes at turns you down, you can come find us,” he offered. I clapped him on his back one more time.

“You’re too good to be someone’s second choice,” I joked. Either way, I wasn’t making “doe eyes” at anyone, even if they did look great in a crop top. The others waved me away; besides Charlie we didn’t run in the same circles.

The music was getting good. I ditched the dance floor in favor of stopping by the bar. It also happened to coincide with where Tris and her friends had been walking towards. The two bartenders behind the bar were swamped, calling out drink names to batch together orders and get people moving as quickly as possible. My order was simple; draft beer took a whole fifteen seconds to pull and hardly any longer to log it into my tab.

I downed half the drink as I scanned the rest of the waiting patrons, ignoring the rising disappointment as I failed to spot Tris. My original plan had been to take things easy and if we saw one another, great. If not, it wasn’t a big deal. Convincing myself to stick to that plan was harder than I had initially anticipated.

The second half of my drink went down slower as I once again moved closer to the dance floor. I continued to catch glimpses of people that might have been Tris or her friends, but each time that I spotted one it seemed that no one else was nearby. Quenching the frustration took the rest of the beer and I slid my glass into someone else’s empty one rather than deal with walking back to the bar.

Lauren waved me over then, bouncing on her toes to catch my attention. She was dead center in the crowd, shouting through clasped hands. Her words were lost in the pounding beats of the music. Hell, I was wasting my night waiting around to find a girl who might have left after ten minutes; it would be better to do something else to put Tris out of my mind.

The moment that I joined the throng of people, the pulse of the music wrapped itself around my every motion. Bodies bounced in time with the bass and nearly everyone’s hands were either in the air or twined around another’s waist. Each beat drummed at the base of my skull, mingling with the slow throb of my growing beer buzz. Lauren shrieked when I arrived at our cluster of friends, tossing her arms around my shoulders.

She had to shout in my ear to be heard, telling me how happy she was that I came over or some such sappy bullshit. I shook my head. “It’s a dance party,” I bellowed over the rising electronic music. “What else would I do?” Lauren laughed, her eyes too bright. She made me dance with her for the rest of the song, refusing to let go.

Someone in the group passed around a tube of blue paint that glowed neon under the ultraviolet lights that the DJ flicked on. A cheer rose as the pit darkened. The only light came from the back bar and flashes of the strobe lighting. The UV light served to illuminate anything white - not that many people chose to wear white - and the neon paint. I was gifted a swath of paint across my forehead and along the backs of my hands before the tube was snatched from Lauren.

I dodged a full handprint dangerously close to being slapped on the back of my shirt. As I was edging back to where I’d been dancing, I caught sight once again of short blonde hair and a wicked smile. Without waiting to explain to Lauren, I ducked into the crush of dancers. The change in lighting had sparked a resurgence in excitement, and the energy in the room rose to a fever pitch.

The sea of people parted slightly and I came up behind Tris. She moved into me, her dancing not missing a beat. Her hand reached back for mine, placing my palm on her hip. I leaned forward as her other hand wormed its way through my hair, pulling me down to her. Demanding.

“I was wondering when you were going to find me, Coulter,” she crowed.

My fingertips skirted along the edge of her shorts before I placed the flat of my palm against her stomach. The music made it impossible to tell, but I’d like to think that her breath caught. “Were you trying to hide from me?” I growled in response. Taunting her further, I nipped at the edge of her ear.

Tris didn’t respond, not verbally at least. Her dancing faltered for a moment before she regained the beat. The strobe light and the stripes of paint under her eyes made it difficult for me to tell if she was flushed. I didn’t realize at first that she had turned to face me until her lips were working their way along my neck, one kiss for each band of ink.

That’s when the first cannon went off, followed by the triumphant screams of the dancers around us. Tris jerked, her eyes wide as she stared at the clouds of chalky orange color drifting down from the ceiling. “It is _Colorfest_ ,” I yelled over the ever-rising pitch of the music. When the beat dropped again, a second cannon went off. This time the green pigment exploded from near the DJ booth, much closer to the ground.

A thin dusting of orange covered everything save for a cluster of very green people by the DJ booth. I wiped off Tris’ mock war paint to restore the stripes to their proper red color. And the beat continued on, ever insistent and never ending.

I lost track of how long we danced, limbs intertwined, bodies moving in sync through the ebb and flow of the DJ’s track list. The cannons blasted at random intervals though the explosions always lined up with the next drop in the bass, covering the crowd in a new rain of color. Sweat dripped neon blue, green, orange, and the white stone of the Pit ran technicolor.

Tris tugged on my hand, guiding us out from the madness towards where there were buckets with tubes of paint. “I want to _actually_ get painted,” she exclaimed, breathless from the last high-tempo dance.

“Color cannons not enough?” I teased as I raked a hand through my hair. It wasn’t blonde anymore, not after the last blast from a blue cannon two feet away from our section of the dance floor.

She snagged two tubes and perched atop a small outcropping of rock amidst a sea of abandoned drinks. I sniffed one - soda and some kind of fruity liqueur - and took a tentative sip. It was sweet, though not painfully so. I drank it slowly, savoring the chance to rehydrate. “Okay Picasso. What do you want to have painted on you?” I asked.

Tris shooed me away rather than answering, asking me to grab us drinks. I was happy to oblige, taking the extra time to calm my racing heart. At the bar, I was content to wait to be noticed, leaning against the dark wood bar top. From the icy reception I’d gotten this morning, I had never imagined that in a few short hours I would be feeling up - and getting felt up myself - or skirting close to making out in the middle of a crowd of people.

Our… closeness wasn’t one-sided, either. Plenty of times I had worried that Tris was just taking my advances and dealing with it to get the Leadership rank. She was two years my junior and from a completely different world, essentially, when it came to romance. But here she had been the instigator, the catalyst to this whirlwind of fevered dancing.

What a night.

I ordered the drinks and slipped back through the crowd to where I’d left Tris. Coming back, I slowed my step to watch as Tris traced delicate patterns along her forearms. She looked up, meeting my eyes instantly across the distance as though we were the only people in the entire Pit. Her smile lit up her entire face as she laughed, blushed, but still waved.

The designs, I saw as I closed the gap and handed her a glass, were a mirror of my own forearm ink. Mazes in brilliant pink against her pale skin, captured with unwavering fingertip strokes. I moved to kiss her only for Tris to squeak out, “No, don’t!”

Her hands still had pink all over them, and she pressed the paint into my poor pigment-coated shirt. My heart nearly stopped. Not for the sake of my shirt - it was already ruined - but at her refusal. “My paint’s still wet,” she explained, her cheeks as pink as the mazes on her arms.

I laughed. Relief welled up from the pit in my stomach. “C’mere, squid,” I murmured, capturing her hands with my own. Pushing her arms out and away from any possible smearing, I kissed Tris. She hummed deep in her throat, edging forward to extend the kiss into a languid affair.

I allowed her to continue as long as she wished, situated between her knees as she slowly slid forward on the rock. Her hands slipped out of my grasp as she threw caution to the wind. “Oops,” she whispered as her forearms left sticky tracks on the back of my shirt. I covered her mouth with mine again, nipping at her bottom lip.

A cannon exploded once more, breaking the spell as we both jerked in surprise. I missed having her in my arms already, though the flush across her face and her swollen lips was a welcome enough sight.

I reached one hand onto my back, sighing when my fingertips came back tacky with half-dried paint. “Sorry,” Tris snickered. “I got caught up in everything.”

“No harm, no foul,” I said. With a quick tug over my head, I took the offending shirt off completely. The hungry stare on Tris’ face was a sweet, sweet thing. She coughed and took a drink to cover her tracks.

“You owe me one of those fancy paintings, though,” I growled, nudging her over to join her on the rock.

Tris nodded, recovering from her embarrassment in a matter of moments. “You don’t have a problem with pink, do you?” she asked. Uncapping the paint, she didn’t wait for an answer. I shook my head no as she started to coat her index finger in paint.

I felt self-conscious for a moment when she immediately stopped to wipe my back down with my shirt. “You’re sweatier than I am,” Tris laughed. “Here I was thinking that you were the stamina king.”

Laughing gave me a second to respond. “If you want to test my stamina, there’s a slightly different method I prefer to use,” I said.

Tris paused, leaning over my shoulder to squint at me. “Hmm, I don’t much feel like sparring right now,” she replied. “I’d rather try something else.” Cheeky girl. Warmth pooled in my stomach and in the tips of my ears.

I groaned when she twisted her face to kiss me and bit my lower lip - gently - instead. “You’re cruel,” I growled. Tris smirked and shrugged one shoulder. Then she settled back and I felt her cool fingers slowly working on my back.

It was heavenly. Gentle touches and carefully placed fingertips danced across my back. I had another geometric design, this one a series of line fragments crawling up my spine. I could feel Tris tracing along it, building from the foundation to create something new. Her breath was warm on my neck when she leaned down to focus on some small detail. I closed my eyes to simply enjoy the sensations.

I felt cool lips press on my shoulder and heard Tris laugh softly. “What?” I asked, turning to try in vain to see what she had painted. She shook her head and I realized that her lips were now covered in bright green paint.

Thankfully it came off easily with a few wipes of my thumb. I tugged Tris to stand up with me, pulling her into my arms. She leaned into the embrace, wrapping her arms around my hips. “What did you do? I can’t see it,” I said into her ear. The DJs had changed and the music was now at a nearly deafening volume. Tris shrugged rather than answering, swaying her hips and coaxing me to dance for another moment.

I let her continue until the end of the song, unable to bear stopping when she was grinning so damn gleefully. The next song was just as energetic, and the pounding bass was starting to drive me insane. Tris cocked her head when I tried to tell her I wanted to take a break. She seemed to understand when I started leading us up the ramps to the higher levels, a devilish smirk taking over her cheerful smile.

Her hand twisted out of mine to settle in my back pocket. “I suppose you need a mirror to see my masterpiece,” she joked. “I have a nice one in my bathroom.”

My heart pounded in time with the bass. I didn’t bother saying hello to anyone we passed by; my brain wasn’t receiving a single drop of blood. In the elevator, I barely had time to press the button for Tris’ floor before she dragged me into the corner to kiss me senseless. God, she barely needed to come up for air, or maybe I was just breathless from how scorching hot it was when she dragged her fingernails down my chest.

I dully heard the ding of the elevator arriving. “This is our stop,” I breathed, resting my forehead against Tris’. Just as suddenly as she’d pulled me to her, she pushed me away. I laughed as my blue streak was now mirrored on her face.

Tris punched in her apartment code and then we were there, standing in the main room. Time stretched and I wondered if she was feeling the same way that I was. We had a connection, a bond that was more than just from one soldier to another. Yet still we were on a knife’s edge as we looked at one another in the yellow light of her apartment.

The pounding music from the Pit couldn’t be heard from here, though my heart was beating as hard as it had been on the dance floor. Tris stepped past me, her expression sly. “You still need to see your back,” she said.

I followed her, my feet ghosting along her tracks. The bathroom light was less yellow, illuminating every inch of the tiled surfaces. I could see my blue-tinted hair and the smears of wiped off paint where Tris had messed up recreating my forearm tattoos. Then my eyes were covered by two small, slightly calloused hands. Tris twisted me to face her, away from the mirror. I felt her lean past and then nudge me another two inches over.

“Good,” she murmured, taking her hands away. I turned my head and couldn’t stop the grin that emerged. She’d traced along the edges of my tattoo, starting at the base in neon pink. As it stretched upwards, the color expanded further into twisting designs that stretched out beyond the tattoo onto my side and shoulder. The actual paint color changed, too, deepening into a true red then purple and finally blue. A single spot of green - Tris’ lip print - sat on my shoulder blade.

I turned to face Tris, picking her up and setting her on the countertop in one whirlwind motion. “Now I’m tragically sad that others didn’t get to marvel at the improvements you made to my ink,” I said, nuzzling her neck. I could feel her laugh as I pressed my lips to her collarbone and sucked a red mark onto her skin.

Unfortunately, I also sucked a chalky taste into my mouth from the pigment still on her skin. Recoiling, I dove for the sink to rinse it out. Tris hopped from the counter and stepped into the shower stall. “I have an easy fix for that,” she said. Her voice echoed slightly in the tiled enclosure.

I looked up to see her turning the faucet on and shivering as the first blast of ice cold water. I wasn’t afforded very long to mock her, though as she pulled me in to suffer just as well. I gathered her up in my arms and took the brunt of the spray until it warmed on my back. Tris shoved the glass panel shut - something I’d forgotten - and from there _everything_ got heated.

Her top stuck to her skin, plastered to her small breasts. At some point she’d taken off her bra - probably while I was washing out my mouth - and I groaned. My expectations of a shy, demure ex-stiff were drastically off-base. Tris was smirking, enjoying my open-mouthed gaping. She’d probably planned the damn cold water, too, as I realized her nipples were peaked under the soaked crop top.

I needed my hands all over her. Grabbing her by the waist, I pulled her off the ground. She obliged, wrapping her legs around my hips. The extra grind against my stiffening cock was cruel, though welcomed. I raked my hand through her hair while the other fought with the edge of her shirt. I _loved_ her hair cut this way. I could grip it and tug just so to make her gasp and twist so that I could attack her neckline and collar properly.

My thumb grazed one nipple, finally having defeated the forces of adhesion between her wet skin and the thin cotton fabric. Tris basked in my attention, her own hands pawing at my back as I sucked a necklace of red marks into place. I continued to tease her nipples, those motions gentler than the rough suction against her skin.

And she ground against me, her shorts catching on my own heavy pants. The shower still roared overhead, washing off the paints and pigments from any skin that wasn’t pressed together. I moved out from the spray and tapped Tris’ hip to coax her back to her own feet. As soon as she was standing, I worked her shorts and panties down until I could properly reach her heated cunt.

Her soft moan echoed through the shower stall when I rubbed two fingers against her clit. “ _Fuck_ , Eric,” Tris breathed. I took her encouragement to heart and slowly worked my fingers between her folds. Keeping the shower spray away was key - too much water just started to hurt - and I felt compelled to make this as enjoyable as possible for Tris.

My free hand wound around her leg, keeping her spread open. I started to tease at her with my mouth, kissing her thigh and nipping at the sensitive flesh just beside her sensitive pussy. All the while I rubbed at her clit, a continuous motion that I didn’t speed up or slow down, no matter how she moved under my hand.

Finally, I took pity and plunged in, my tongue working at her wet pussy. Her groans alone would have me harder than a rock, never mind the way she pulled at my hair to coax my tongue deeper into her. Her breath hitched and I knew she was moments from falling over the edge. Finally, I sped up my ministrations to match every cant of her hips.

She came with another groan, this one breathy and seconds long. When her voice petered out, I pulled away. Standing under the spray again, I wiped away her taste from my mouth. Tris leaned heavily against the wall, a sight to be seen with her shirt all but off and her shorts pooled at her feet. She took no more than ten breaths before coming back to full awareness.

When she did, she stepped forward and tugged her top fully off, her eyes locking on me with an intensity that would stop a lesser man’s heart.

“Your turn.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope that this fulfilled your prompt at least a little bit, Dasha :3 I had a lot of fun coming up with Colorfest’s concept such that it would make some kind of sense that they’d be going so hog-wild with resources. And of course any chance to get these two going hot and heavy under strobe lights and very little clothing is always welcomed ;D
> 
> Please, please consider leaving a comment below! They let me know that y’all are enjoying my writing and give me better feedback than just a plain kudos. Tell me what you liked, if something happened you weren’t expecting, if you don’t think XYZ thing made sense. 
> 
> If you’re looking for more Eris fic, check out my profile; I have several more oneshots and also three multi-chapter fics in different stages of completion. Also there will be two more prompt-fills going up later. Check out the progress on my writing on my writing blog (feckyeswriting). You can literally just google it or find it on Tumblr. Thank you in advance!
> 
> Oh, and kids: don’t sip random drinks at parties. Dauntless exists in a happy little bubble where roofies don’t exist.


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